Chapter 47

Forty-Seven

SCOTTIE

"It's no surprise that our son would find someone as into hockey as he is."

I turn to Emory's dad and smile. "You know how he is. He loves the game."

My stomach flips, and I turn back to the ice. I'm not sure if I'm referring to hockey or our game, but I think he likes to play both.

Ellie jumps up with her freshly braided hair and Blue Devils bow swinging from the bottom. "Let's go, Daddy!"

Just then, Rhodes uses his shoulder, and a player flies onto the ice, losing their stick in the process. The crowd boos, and Ellie crosses her arms. She turns to us. "He's being a little bit of a bully."

I shrug. "Sometimes that's necessary in hockey."

Ellie sighs. "Well, I don't like bullies."

"Me either." I can't help but think of William and all the times I've had to knock a few guys on their ass or embarrass them in some way or another for messing with him. "Do you have a bully, Ellie?"

Suddenly, her face pales. She turns her back to me. Emory's mom and I catch each other's attention. Her lips flatten, and I nod. I make a mental note to say something to Rhodes, but not tonight—if they can't get their shit together, they're all going to be in angry moods later.

The offense takes advantage of Rhodes being in the penalty box, and pucks continue to fly at Emory. He blocks them, but if Rhodes doesn't get back on the ice to even up the game, they're going to keep coming after our goalie, and that angers me more than it should.

One of the players swipes the puck from Malaki, and I growl under my breath. "Play like a team, guys!" I yell, remembering what Emory and I were talking about last night.

They can't hear me, and I'm not the coach.

But the game brings out something in me that I can't hide.

I blame that on my father and his passion for hockey that he obviously passed down to me.

Rhodes glances at Ellie before the penalty box door opens, and he's back on the ice. We both sigh with relief, but Rhodes goes directly to the guy he shoulder-checked before, and I swear they're exchanging words.

A puck flies past, and Emory misses it by a hair.

"It's okay!" I'm quick to add. He can't hear me, but it makes me feel better to say it aloud.

"Something is off," Emory's dad mutters. "The Devils look tense out there."

I nod.

They freeze the puck, and there's a short break in the game. I think the fans, me included, collectively take a deep breath. I'm staring at the focus on Emory's face from his post when I hear one of the Falcons say a familiar name.

"Cherry?"

I turn out of reaction.

Recognition flashes across his red face, and I quickly break our eye contact.

Shit.

Peeking at Emory's parents, they seem unfazed. I exhale.

But nothing gets past Ellie. She stares at me with confusion. "Cherry?"

I shrug. "Maybe he likes cherries?"

She thinks for a second. "I don't like them."

I pretend to be amused. "Neither do I."

Little does she know how true that statement is.

The game is slowly coming to an end with a tie of 2-2. I'm tense in all the wrong spots, and I can't take my attention from number eleven.

I know exactly who he is.

He used to play for Chicago until he was traded. I don't know the specifics of why he was traded, but I do know that when he'd come into the strip club, he was a sloppy drunk and awfully handsy.

Not that Russ cared.

But I did.

I have no idea how he recognizes me since he was always drunk and I looked a lot different than I do now, but he does, and that doesn't sit well with me at all.

The more I think about it, the more my stomach tightens. I suddenly want to disappear from the stands and go to the bathroom to hide until the end of the game.

In the midst of the fans yelling, I stare at my shoes. I'm too afraid to look at the ice and see him staring at me again. My irrational thoughts take a nosedive and start spinning all kinds of outlandish things. I picture a whisper spreading through the stands, and everyone knowing that I'm a fraud. They'll know I'm not wife material and that Emory only married me as a ploy to make everyone think he's on the up and up with his reputation.

Until, of course, everyone finds out the truth.

In that case, his reputation will be shredded even further.

"Come on, son! Don't fall for it."

My head snaps up, and my eyes lock onto Emory.

I suck in a ragged breath when I see him slowly climb to his skates with his helmet half on. His steely gaze, the one that he typically reserves for the ice, is set on number eleven.

Oh no.

Just when I think Emory is going to show everyone that the rumors are true and he is just some hotheaded goalie, he pulls his mask down and gets back into position.

Thank god.

I exhale slowly, and a warmness flows through me when Emory's mom grabs onto my hand for a quick second and gives it a squeeze. I smile softly at her but turn away quickly when my eyes fill with tears.

How healing would it be to be accepted into a family like this?

As soon as she drops my hand, we all jump backward. A Falcon is smashed against the glass right in front of us, and Kane is suddenly throwing his gloves off to the side and bumping Rhodes out of the way to get a swing on number eleven. I quickly put my hands on Ellie's ears. There are too many inappropriate curse words filling the atmosphere, and when I hear the word Cherry, my stomach rolls with a wave of nausea.

Suddenly, both teams are at each other's throats. Emory makes his way over and takes off some of his gear, throwing it to the side.

Instead of throwing punches, though, he's pulling his teammates backward and sending them a chilling stare. When he gets to Kane, he pulls on his collar and sends him in the opposite direction. The ref grabs Kane and barks at him to get into the penalty box. His sick smile is full of blood, and I scoff.

These men!

I turn back to the ice and watch as Emory skates over to River. The entire arena freezes around me. I see nothing but my husband with a calm yet intimidating look on his face. He mumbles something to him before River heads to the opposite sin bin. Emory swipes his mask off the ice and glances at me on his way back to his post. His lips turn slightly upward, and he winks at me.

The dread and worry I felt moments ago disappear within a second.

A calmness flows through me, and I can suddenly breathe again.

Even more so when I look across the ice and stare at my husband, who is beginning to fill my head with all kinds of crazy thoughts—like how I really wish this marriage was real.